


You Have Bewitched Me, Body and Soul

by cortexinthevortex



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Jane and Clara are cutie patooties, its only mentioned here though, serious angst here guys, shhhhh i'm still in denial, we all know who the major character death is here guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexinthevortex/pseuds/cortexinthevortex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane and Clara spend their final morning together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have Bewitched Me, Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance for this. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Clara.

Jane loved to see Clara smile. The way her eyes would inflate, shining at her gently, brimming with tenderness. How her lips would curve into her cheeks, pressing wrinkles into the soft skin at the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks would tinge the slightest of reds and her eyebrows would raise ever-so-slightly, a move that no-one else would be able to see but her. Jane loved every single motion of it, as well as the intimacy Clara offered her by it. She smiled like that at nobody else. Only Jane, and perhaps sometimes her absent father that arrived, more often than she would have liked, to take Clara away.

Jane paused briefly in her recollection. She hated whenever Clara had to go. Her hand paused it's movements through the dark tresses of the petite woman laying next to her, who sniffed in her sleep and rolled in the bedsheets, wiggling closer to her. It was Jane's turn to smile, now, albeit mournfully, resuming her gentle caresses on the older woman's skin. When Clara's father came for her they often both went missing for months, if not years, and Jane went about her daily routines with a weight like lead in her heart until their mysterious blue carriage would arrive on her front lawn and Clara would greet her, not looking a day older since she'd left. She greeted her at the front doors publicly, all polite gestures and mannerisms, and once she'd said goodbye to her father and her luggage had been taken through Jane and Clara would say hello in their own way, behind the locked doors of Clara's now-permanent bedroom. She cherished the time the two spent together above all others.

Her hands fell lax in her companion's hair once more. She complained, nudging her head upwards in search of her soothing touch, and when Jane moved them deliberately away Clara opened her eyes on a sigh.

"Hiya." Clara said warmly, stretching like a cat. Her arms braved the cold of the room and she shivered, quickly shoving them back under the heavy duvet. The fire had long since gone out and the servants hadn't been in to stoke the fire- they always locked the door at night, both of them terrified of what may happen if they were caught. Their combined body warmth was ample to keep both of them cozy and content.

"Hello, my love," whispered Jane, "you slept well, I hope?"

"Well enough." Clara replied. Jane tilted her head down at Clara, still amused at her poor attempts at imitating Jane's accent and language. She always got the distinct feeling that Clara was hiding something from her. When her accent slipped she sounded northern, and Clara sometimes slipped words into conversation which were nothing like anything Jane had heard before. The only sense she could make of it was that maybe Clara was an immigrant, trying desperately to find a husband among those that frequented Bath and Jane's place of residence. If that were so, however, shouldn't Clara be married already? She wasn't young, not by society's standards. She was nearly thirty, well past the time that any respectable woman should be married. Jane herself was only twenty-one, barely out of private schooling. She hadn't had a chance yet to find herself an eligible husband. Clara, though, was a whole different kettle of fish.

Although, Jane thought, as Clara snuggled up to her and slung a leg over her waist, she might just know the reason why.

"I'm glad to hear it." Said Jane softly. She chanced a glance out of their bedroom window and frowned. The sun was coming up, and soon it would be time for Clara to leave again to god knows where. Her father might have even grown tired of travelling with her, and found her a suitable match. Jane clasped Clara tighter against her, heart raging jealously at her lover's fictional suitor. She knew that it was impossible for them to marry, but she could abstain from pledging herself to another for the rest of her life, if Clara wanted her to.

Clara, perhaps sensing Jane's foul mood, began to press sleepy kisses into her bare shoulder and neck.

"I'll be back, Jane, before you know it." Clara promised. Jane didn't bother asking how she knew what she was thinking about- the women knew each other inside out.

"I hate when you leave," Jane muttered, sighing pleasurably when Clara moved her kisses up from her neck to her jaw. She kneaded her fingers gently into Clara's shoulder blades, pulling her up and on top of her. Clara rewarded her with a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back and admiring the messy splay of Jane's mousey brown hair against the stark white of their pillows. Jane's arms rounded her waist, attempting to cuddle Clara as close as was physically possible. She buried her face in Clara's hair. "Please, don't leave. Stay with me." She begged.

"You know I can't." Answered Clara, sliding a delicate finger under Jane's chin and turning her to face her. "And you know how much I want to." She pressed a tender kiss to Jane's forehead.

The sun was nearly fully up now. One of them would have to move soon- it looked bad if anyone was seen sneaking out from someone else's bedroom in the morning, regardless of gender- but neither of them wanted to. Half of Clara's face and her shoulders were bathed in the pinky gold of the rising sun. To Jane, she appeared to be ethereal in the early morning night- like an angel, sent down to keep her company whenever she became too lonely and leaving when she was called back to heaven. Clara shivered in the cold of the room, and Jane pulled their duvet more firmly around them.

"If you want to stay with me so much, then why don't you?" Jane questioned, curious. "Your father could always travel without you."

"Mmmm. He likes to see new places with me." Clara ran her fingers along Jane's cheeks. She shuddered at the intimate touch and intertwined their legs under the duvet. Clara hummed contentedly and lay fully down on top of her, hands clutching at Jane's arms and shoulders.

"But surely you've already been everywhere? Where else is there for you to go?" Jane complained. "I feel like we always have so little time together before you're stolen away from me again."

"Oh, I'm yours now, am I?" Clara teased her, resting her chin on Jane's chest and giving her a cheeky grin.

"Yes." Jane asserted, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "And don't avoid the question." Jane swatted at her playfully, trying to mask the fear that was growing in her stomach. What if Clara continued to travel for the rest of her life, or decided that she would much rather live in a foreign country away from Jane and their strange bond?

"The world that I travel...it's...infinite. There's always something to see, new people to meet."

"My love, that makes no sense." Jane frowned, confused. The world was not infinite- by any stretch. And what did she mean by the world that she travelled?

"That's okay. I didn't expect it to." Clara shrugged. Her face had fallen, her smile dropped in favour of a tiny downturn of her lips that made Jane's heart ache. She searched quickly for a way to fix it.

"If travelling is what makes you truly happy, then by all means, do go. But promise me you'll think of me, on that balcony there-" Jane nodded to the set of French doors opposite their bed "-waiting for you to come home to me. Because with you, Miss Clara Oswald," Jane took a shaky breath, aware of just how much of her heart she was baring to the other woman, "with you, is where I belong."

Clara's eyes widened and something flickered over them- was that guilt? Regret? Jane wasn't sure- and she shook her head wildly. Jane's heart sank.

Oh.

She made to get up and leave, anything to spare her the pain of the moment and hide the emotions from Clara which she clearly didn't share, but Clara stopped her, grabbing her wrists and pressing the fisted knuckles on Jane's hands gently to her lips.

"I'll think of you, I promise. And I'll come back. See? Nothing to worry about." Clara reassured her. Jane nodded, eyes brimming with tears. Once Clara left this room, like all the other times, she wouldn't see Clara before she left. It made it easier to mask the true nature of their relationship from prying eyes. To pretend that she was only losing a dear friend, when in reality she was letting go of a lot more.

"I made you something. For the journey." Jane said haltingly. She had picked up some of Clara's speech habits- odd as they were- which only came out when she was under lots of stress, usually caused by her lover.

"You what?" Asked Clara, letting go of her wrists so Jane could slip out from under their duvet. Jane trembled in the icy cold of their room, already missing the furnace-like heat of the bed. She crossed to her vanity and pulled a pile of leather bound books from a drawer. Returning to the bed, she clambered back into Clara's waiting arms and offered her the pile.

"You're always encouraging my writing, so I had these made for you. My drafts. Some of them are finished, but..." She sighed, shrugged. "I can never understand why you pester me so about them."

"You kidding? I love your books." Clara said enthusiastically, turning the tightly wrapped bundle over in her small hands. There was that smile that Jane loved so, aimed at the present that Clara held with such reverent fingers. Truly, Jane would never be able to understand her fascination with her work; she'd been turned down by so many publishers she'd lost count. If it elicited a smile like that from Clara, though, maybe her writing would be something that she would be willing to work on. "Thank you, Jane," continued Clara, "thank you. So much."

Jane watched the happy, contented smile, and noted with satisfaction the way Clara hugged the books to her chest as if they were treasures. Her heart felt so full it could burst from happiness alone. She nudged their foreheads together, hoping that Clara would be able to feel the same depth of emotion that she was.

"I love you, Clara." Sighed Jane, nuzzling into the smaller woman. Clara didn't reply with words- she never did- but instead tilted her head and encouraged Jane into a languid kiss, tender, the kind that made Jane's toes curl and Clara's entire body melt into her embrace. The bundle of books got in the way this time, but neither of them particularly cared. She had had no experience of kissing anyone before Clara came along but, from her reaction, Jane guessed she must be getting something right.

Too soon Clara broke away and, leaving several goodbye kisses on Jane's cheeks and eyelids, rose from the bed. The sun was fully up now. If they left it any longer, they would be too late. Jane snuggled into the heat that Clara had left in their bed and watched her move around their room, getting dressed, sorting her hair, and tucking the bundle under an armpit. She committed everything she saw to memory- she doubted they would see each other again for quite a few months.

"Goodbye, my love." Jane called from the bed when Clara was reaching for the doorknob. Her lover smiled, turned around, blew a kiss at her and winked.

"Goodbye, Jane. Get those books published for me, will you? I want to see them when I get back." Clara smiled.

"Of course." Jane said, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think I'd let all your nagging go to waste?"

Clara laughed and left the room. Jane waited, listening for her footsteps to retreat down the grand staircase, then, wrapping the duvet around herself, crossed to the balcony doors. From there she could see across the grassy front lawn; from there she could see the blue carriage parked next to the water fountain, and Clara Oswald as she ran to the grey-haired man that awaited her inside the threshold. Jane closed her eyes as Clara's gaze swept up to the balcony, and didn't see the little half-wave she aimed in her direction. When she opened them again, the blue carriage was gone.

After that morning, Jane never saw Clara again. She eagerly awaited her return, asking the servants every day if they had heard word of Miss Oswald to no avail. She published as many books as she possibly could to get her attention and then, when that didn't work, accepted a marriage proposal to bring her back in a jealous rage. Not that that lasted for long, however- she thought that her engagement was more likely to drive Clara away than bring her back to her, so she broke off the arrangement only a day after she agreed. She moved residence as often as possible, a pretence to seek her out. Nothing worked. Her bed stayed cold, her heart stayed empty. It seemed as if Clara had left her for good. She never married. In the absence of her, Jane mourned.

Jane would die never knowing what had happened to her- not the sacrifice she had made on the Street, the life she had given up in order to save a child from having to grow up without her father. If she had, Jane would have admired her. Forgiven her, as well, for breaking all her promises when she upheld all of hers. As it was, Jane wondered and grieved for her up until her death.

***

The Doctor tried to get there in time. For Clara. She would've wanted Jane to know the truth, to know that although she would never allow herself to love another human like she did Danny Pink, that she had come close.

He didn't like to think about Clara and himself.

The moment he arrived at Jane's home, he knew he was too late. There was a black carriage waiting outside the apartments she lived in. Relatives were dressed all in black, mourning. He held the crumpled letter in his hands, the one Clara had written and rewritten until she got it just right for Jane mere days before the raven. He had to get it to her. If he couldn't manage it in her life, he would reunite them in their deaths.

He easily conned his way into Jane's bedroom using the psychic paper. Pudding brains, they were all the same. So predictable.

Jane was covered with a silk blanket, hidden from view. Gently, the Doctor lifted the edge of the blanket and tucked the folded piece of paper over the heart of the aged author resting at peace in front of him. He moved a hand to hold the letter there, then soniced the muscles so it would hold in place through the church service and the burial. He hadn't read the letter. Clara wouldn't have wanted him to, and he respected her wishes. Perhaps now she would stop haunting him; perhaps now this last errand was done her face would stop appearing in his dreams.

He shook his head and stepped back, letting the coverlet fall nearly back into place. Perhaps not.

"May you rest in peace." He told the still body, then turned and left the room.

Nobody watched to see the TARDIS leave.


End file.
